White Dragon, Blue Jaguar
by Alexandri
Summary: A lost bet leads to consequence Draco never expected.


**Title:** White Dragon, Blue Jaguar  
**Author:** Alexandri  
**Pairing:** Draco/Blaise  
**Disclaimer:** Only the plot is mine. All else is JKR's.  
**Rating:** light R, hardly smutty.  
**Summary**: A lost bet leads to consequence Draco never expected.

Draco stood backstage, impatiently fiddling with his voluminous, emerald-green silk shirt. "Who wears shit like this?" he muttered to himself as he poked disdainfully at a sleeve. Combined with the skintight, silver leather pants and matching knee boots, he looked like a futuristic sex pirate.

"It won't be long now," a smooth, male voice said to his left. Lorenzo, the club's announcer and stage manager as well as Draco's liaison for the night, swept an appraising glance over him. With a satisfied smirk, he nodded and said, "You're up next. Be careful when you get out there. A pretty bloke like you—they'll eat you alive."

"How reassuring," Draco drawled, hoping his uneasiness wasn't apparent in his voice. This was easily the most humiliating experience of his life and there was no way for him to get out of it. _The loser has to do whatever the winner says_. That was the bet, the only restraints being the winner's good taste. Draco currently doubted Blaise's. Not that it would matter for long. After tonight, he was going to murder his flatmate and now former best friend. And then he was never betting on Quidditch again. Really, how was he supposed to predict the pansy-assed French would beat this year's exceptionally strong English team for the World Cup?

"Get in place," Lorenzo hissed urgently as he nudged Draco. Blinking, he realized that the last performer had just gotten off the stage and it was now his turn. Fighting the urge to rush to the nearest toilet and vomit, Draco took his position behind the black, velvet curtain like the trooper he'd become and waited for Lorenzo to introduce him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have a special treat for you. For one night only, the Blue Jaguar is proud to present The White Dragon!"

_The White Dragon?_ Draco thought as he thrust open the curtain. Glaring into the bright lights flooding the stage, he decided that only a slow, excruciating death would justify the indignity he was about to suffer. Forcing himself to release his grip on the curtain, Draco stepped through the white mist swirling around his feet. Sweeping his eyes around the stylish club, the tastefully dressed patrons leapt into sharp clarity. As the low, thumping music to which Conan the Ravager spent a week teaching him a complicated dance routine began to play, Draco's gaze landed on Blaise sitting at a table at the end of the long stage. Blaise's expression was a mixture of curiosity, amusement and, above all, challenge. His face relaxing into his trademark smirk, Draco turned his attention back to the audience and began to move.

Swiveling his hips with measured seductiveness, Draco reached up and undid the green ribbon holding his hair back. With a hard shake, his silky, white-blond locks floated around his face and shoulders to the delight of the club. He ran his fingers through the thick, heavy mane down his neck to his chest as he prowled down the catwalk. Suddenly, with an absurdly flirtatious smile, Draco ripped his shirt open and eased it down his arms with enough prowess to make Conan jealous before flinging it off.

Draco gyrated and flirted his way further down the stage, stripping his boots and tear-away pants off with uncommon grace. With nothing left but a shiny, silver G-string and a full-body blush, Draco prayed that nothing fell out and launched into the next part of the routine with as much shamelessness as he could muster. He ground his hips naughtily to the music, his hands running wantonly over his torso as he neared the end of the stage.

A throng of half-drunk, well-dressed women and quite a few men had gathered around the perimeter and, though he refused to show it, Draco was more than a little concerned by the rapacious gleam in their eyes. Gamely but cautiously, he neared the edge as he sank gracefully to his knees. He had intended to stay just out of reach, but he'd underestimated his audience's determination. In a matter of seconds, he'd been dragged forward, a host of foreign hands pawing his body, groping his arse, squeezing his cock as they shoved crisp, rough paper into his thong.

Under the guise of his dance, Draco frantically struggled against the unwelcome advances, finally managing to wrest himself free, a strained smile fixed in place. As he rose to his feet and backed away from the overzealous crowd, his gaze collided with Blaise's. Everything but the music and Draco's rising indignation fell away as he danced.

Blaise's eyes glittered with an emotion Draco couldn't quite identify. Somewhere between knowing smugness and fierce possessiveness, the look left him feeling exposed, more so than he already was. Shaking his hair back, his chin raised, Draco danced back toward the curtain, each movement infused with extra vigor to hide his consternation.

Finally, the music ended and with one last flash of his sexiest smile, he darted through the curtain. Draco closed his eyes, savoring the blissful cool of the dim backstage. Unbidden, his mind flashed back to Blaise. His skin prickled as he recalled the way his flatmate's dark blue gaze had slithered over him, following and cataloguing the contorting lines and angles of his body. Friends did not look at friends like that. It was no wonder he was so flustered.

Lorenzo's attempts to pry his hands off the velvet curtain brought Draco out of his thoughts. "What are you doing?"

"You have to go back on," Lorenzo said, fighting to loosening Draco's fingers.

Draco clutched the curtain tighter. "I don't think so," he drawled with as much calm as he could muster. There was no way he was going back out before those vultures.

"They're encoring you," the announcer explained, trying to wrench Draco's hands loose. "You have to go."

"Like hell, I will," Draco practically shouted. "Did you see what they tried to do to me?"

"I told you not to get too close."

Draco sputtered as he searched for an appropriately crushing response. Lorenzo beat him to the punch.

"If you don't go back now, it'll just get worse when you do. And you will go. Zabini said that if you 'refuse to comply with any task you're given, you've reneged on your end of the deal and the consequences will be severe.'" Lorenzo shrugged and gave Draco a smile that was supposed to be reassuring but failed miserably. "Those were his exact words."

Growling angrily in defeat, Draco released the curtain and turned toward back toward his new description of hell. After a few seconds where he tried to coerce himself forward, Draco whispered to Lorenzo, "I can't do it."

"Uh-huh," Lorenzo murmured. "Use the pole this time. The crowd loves it."

Then he pushed Draco through the curtain.

Draco added him to his torture list.

* * *

Draco couldn't remember ever being as furious as he was at present. He stalked down one of the back corridors, still reeling from what he'd been made to do. The initial dance had been bad, the two encores had been worse. But the lap dances had been worst of all. Blaise had committed him to performing five of the blasted atrocities. So far, he'd been forced to shake his arse for three women and one man who'd looked at him like he was the most tempting porterhouse steak he'd ever come across. Draco thanked Merlin the patrons weren't allowed to touch.

He stopped at the door to a private room—the site of his final dance. Taking a breath and forcing the scowl off his face, Draco opened the door and entered the room.

Blaise sat in the room's lone chair. Dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit, the top two buttons of his black shirt undone to reveal his strong, olive-skinned neck, Blaise was the picture of bored, young wealth. Unless you knew him. Draco observed his friend's long, finely shaped fingers absently trace the rim of the glass of scotch at his side, the effortlessly careless drape of his lithe frame, the almost imperceptible smirk fighting with the corner of his full mouth, and knew that Blaise was perfectly aware of the mounting tension. When his flatmate raised unfathomable, indigo eyes to his stormy, grey ones, Draco knew that he wasn't in control of the situation. That, combined with the increasing sense of exploited helplessness he'd had the entire night, made him cranky.

"Good evening, Draco," Blaise said finally in a low, sensual rumble. "I trust you've been treated well."

"I've been manhandled by drunk women, molested by gay, possibly bisexual men, propositioned by Muggles, and assaulted with paper shoved in what passes as underwear in this place," Draco ranted in a deadly even tone. "No, I don't believe I've been treated well."

"I hear you've done quite well for one night," Blaise said as if Draco's complaints hadn't even registered with him. "You're very good for business, my friend."

"Did you not hear me?" Draco fumed, struggling unsuccessfully to keep the ire out of his voice. "A very fat, very ugly Muggle offered me fifteen hundred pounds if I'd join him and his wife for a night of 'intense sexual play.' He didn't even say fifteen hundred pounds of what and that was supposed to be enticing? I'm sure Father is spinning in his grave as we speak."

Lips twitching, Blaise sipped his scotch. "There have already been numerous requests for your return to the club."

"There aren't enough galleons in Gringotts to ever get me to relive this night as anything more than the hellish nightmare it's been."

"Pity." Blaise set his glass on the side table and pinned Draco with his inscrutable gaze. "I'm ready when you are."

"For what?" Draco snapped.

"My dance."

Mouth dropping open slightly, Draco went utterly still. "Pardon?"

"My dance," Blaise repeated. "You may begin whenever you're ready."

"I'm not giving you a lap dance, Blaise."

"Draco . . ."

"No. There are some boundaries that simply shouldn't be crossed."

"It's standard practice at The Blue Jaguar. All of my dancers have done so. Many of them have improved immensely because of my critiques."

"Bisexual bastard," Draco muttered. Blaise's smirk broadened. "I do this and then I'm free to go home."

"Of course."

Draco hesitated. He wasn't entirely sure what it was but he suspected that Blaise's proposal was not as simple as he made it sound. He couldn't shake the feeling that doing this would throw everything off-kilter. But if he didn't then the "consequences would be severe." Draco was positive he didn't want to be subjected to Blaise's twisted imagination again if he could help it. Realizing he didn't have much choice, Draco glared at his friend. "I loathe you."

Blaise regally waved his hand in lieu of an answer and a deep, dirty beat filled the room. Still clad in nothing but his thong, Draco began to dance, keeping a healthy distance between his arse and Blaise's lap. After he showed no inclination to get closer after several seconds, Blaise said, "It's not a lap dance if you're three feet away."

His glower deepened which only made Blaise smile indulgently. Draco close the distance, but still didn't near his friend's lap. Instead, he grasped the back of Blaise's chair and undulated his way to the floor. "Did you know I've spent the entire night trying to devise the perfect revenge? Unfortunately, I just can't decide what would be the most fitting form of retribution."

"There's nothing to avenge," he said smoothly. "We made a bet, you lost, now you're fulfilling the terms."

"Ah, but you could have chosen something much less embarrassing," Draco breathed as he eased his way up. Trailing his fingers up Blaise's inner thigh as he danced to the back of the chair, he said, "I've considered locking you away in the dungeon at Malfoy Manor and flogging you but that isn't public enough."

"No, I suppose it isn't."

"And somehow, hexing you with boils seems insufficient in comparison to this humiliation." He slid his hands down Blaise's chest in slow, swirling circles until his mouth was level with his ear. "That wouldn't even make up for the thong, let alone the stripping. Or the groping. Or the dancing. Hmm, such a quandary."

Blaise didn't respond, preferring to fix his impatient, sapphire stare on Draco. Presenting his brightest, most innocent smile, Draco straightened and came around the side table to face his flatmate. At Blaise's raised eyebrow, Draco turned his back, took a deep breath, and sank into his friend's lap, clutching the back of the chair to help his balance. He tentatively ground his arse in Blaise's crotch. Gaining confidence at the sound of Blaise's nearly inaudible moan, Draco let his head fall back on his shoulder. "What would you do if you were in my position?"

"You might try moving your hips back and forth instead of in a circle," Blaise answered. "When a man gets a lap dance, he likes his prick to be stimulated as well as teased."

"Interesting and not at all what I was asking," Draco replied as he began to rise, his arse brushing Blaise's stomach. "Of course, I could just use a well-chosen curse to scar that pretty face of yours."

"You wouldn't."

Blaise sounded so confident that Draco dropped back into his lap. "I wouldn't be so sure of that."

Suddenly, Draco felt Blaise's cock grind against his arse. "If there is one thing you appreciate, it's beauty," Blaise stated, his breath hot in Draco's ear. "And I am far too gorgeous for you to consider defacing."

"You think far too much of yourself."

"Hardly." Their bodies writhed in unison, the music forgotten. Draco gasped, his eyes fluttering closed as Blaise caressed the air centimeters away from his face before brushing his hair back. "I've only ever dealt in facts. That has always been your greatest flaw, mate—your insistence on functioning in an idealized world."

Draco twisted so that he straddled Blaise's lap, their noses practically touching, their eyes locked. "Just what the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

"That, instead of accepting things as they are and dealing with them accordingly, you create your own version of reality and deny everything that doesn't fit in."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Draco whispered, thoroughly unnerved by the sultry challenge glimmering in his friend's eyes.

"So you're not so turned on right now that your pitiful excuse of a thong is hard-pressed to contain your erection," Blaise countered, rubbing his own erection against Draco's. "You aren't recalling every moan, every whimper, every single scream of pleasure you've ever heard come from my room at night. You've never watched me kiss a lover good-bye in the morning and wished you were the one I was kissing. You've never wanked to the memory of our interludes in seventh year and wondered if I've gotten better with time. You aren't wishing I'd take you in hand now and give you what you're too bloody stubborn to admit you want, even to yourself."

Trembling, his fingers desperately gripping the back of the chair, Draco slowly shook his head. "You're wrong," he murmured.

Blaise leaned forward until his lips were a breath away from his flatmate's. "Prove it," he whispered. Then he lightly claimed Draco's lips.

He tried to pull away, to disprove Blaise's claim, but he felt like he was caught in the gravitational pull of something much bigger than himself and, with a moan, he gave in to it. Blaise groaned his acknowledgment of Draco's submission and Draco parted his lips without prompting. Blaise's tongue plunged forward, leisurely reacquainting itself with the depths of Draco's mouth.

Whimpering as Blaise's exploration escalated to a devouring of his mouth, Draco thrust his fingers into the neat, black curls at Blaise's nape. He pressed forward, his body following Blaise's lead as they moved restlessly against each other.

After what felt like a blissful eternity, Blaise pulled back. Draco followed him, loath to end the kiss. Blaise ducked his head and Draco reluctantly acquiesced. They stared at each other, neither inclined toward words. Then finally, _finally_, Blaise touched him, soothingly sliding his fingers along the swollen curve of Draco's lips. "The music stopped," Blaise said, his voice strangely soft.

"So it has."

Another silence. "I must get back to work."

Draco nodded jerkily and scooted back along his lap, still too stunned by what had just happened to hold a conversation.

Blaise buried a hand in Draco's hair with a soft moan as he tugged him forward and snogged him again. This time their kiss was gentle, a tender brushing of lips with the slightest nip of teeth. Again, Blaise pulled back and, with a movement far too graceful for Draco's lust-addled mind to comprehend, deposited his friend in the chair while he knelt before him. "I really must return to work."

"O-of course," Draco managed. He watched, fascinated, as Blaise shrugged out of a suit jacket and handed it to him.

"Go to the dressing room and collect your things," he directed quietly. "Then I want you to go home, take a shower, and rest, all right?"

"I don't think I'll be sleeping tonight."

"Get some rest, Draco. I'll be home in a few hours and you'll need it." Draco gaped at Blaise, who merely smiled. "Don't worry. I know it's been a while for you. I'll go easy on you."

"How very considerate of you," Draco retorted as Blaise got to his feet and turned toward the door.

"I'll expect you to be in my bed. I don't want to have to come looking for you."

"Has anyone ever told you you're very presumptuous?" he asked as he slipped Blaise's jacket on.

His hand on the knob, Blaise turned back to Draco, his face serious. "You're mine, you do know that?"

Draco stood, staring unwaveringly into Blaise's eyes. A few, short hours ago, he'd been a single, heterosexual bachelor who'd experimented once during N.E.W.T.-time. Now, he'd been claimed by the man before him. He didn't find the idea as disturbing as he'd once thought he would.

"Draco?" Blaise said, a hint of urgency in his voice. "You _do_ know that, right?"

"Yeah," he said faintly. When Blaise raised an unconvinced eyebrow, he couldn't hold back his smile. "Yes, Blaise, I know."

"Good," he said with a nod. "Perhaps we'll work on your dance later. It's not bad overall, though the threats of violence leave something to be desired."

"They were rather uninspired," Draco said cheekily. "I'd been distracted. I'm sure I'll have come up with something better by the time you get home."

"You do that," Blaise laughed as he slipped through the door. "Ciao, love," he said just before closing the door.

Staring at the door through which his arrogant friend had disappeared, Draco realized there were worse things than becoming Blaise's lover. If there was one thing he knew about Blaise, it was that he took exceptional care of what belonged to him. It seemed that included him now. Looking back at their relationship since seventh year, Draco recognized that it might have included him for longer than he thought. Clutching Blaise's jacket closed and padding to the door, Draco knew he was going to have to seriously think about what he'd just gotten himself into. For now, though, he'd just go along for the ride. Catching a glimpse of Blaise as he made his way to the dressing room, he thought the ride just might be worth it.


End file.
